


Let the Waters Still

by parcequelle



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Community: femslashex, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:46:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: The summer holidays are upon them, and five days after her school has emptied of pupils, Pippa leaves her deputy headmistress in charge and sets off for Cackle’s.





	Let the Waters Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mazily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/gifts).



> For mazily for Femslash Exchange 2017. I had a lot of fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it!

The summer holidays are upon them, and five days after her school has emptied of pupils, Pippa leaves her deputy headmistress in charge and sets off for Cackle’s. She makes good time through the bright, cloudless sky, the wind at her back all the way, and is just circling around the castle’s outer turrets when a black smudge appears on the lawn below her. Pippa doesn’t wave, but does smile; Hecate must have spotted her approach from the window.

‘Well met,’ Hecate says, a little stiffly, once Pippa has dismounted and they are standing there, a foot between them, Pippa’s broom hovering beside her.

‘Well met,’ she replies. Hecate is nervous, she can tell, and her solution to this is to step close and draw her in, the way she did a month ago. It seems to be the right decision; almost immediately, she feels the tension in Hecate’s body begin to dissolve, feels her expel a sigh that sounds like relief. ‘I’m a little early,’ Pippa says, pulling back and giving Hecate an apologetic smile. ‘I was able to get away sooner than I had anticipated. I hope it won’t cause any inconvenience.’

All right, maybe she’s a little nervous, as well. They have already been forced to postpone this meeting twice – once at Hecate’s behest, once at Pippa’s – and with every postponement her anticipation has only inflamed, her impatience to make peace with this strange, restless longing only risen. Now, standing before her after so many weeks of waiting, Pippa finds she is almost off-balance; she is struck anew by the sharpness of Hecate’s eyes and cheekbones, by the secretive tilt of her chin. They have been talking over the mirror two or three times weekly since the spelling bee, but that is never quite the same thing as standing so close to someone, as feeling the warmth radiate from their skin or catching the twitch of their rare but lovely smile.

‘None whatsoever,’ Hecate says, and Pippa blinks away her distracted admiration, focuses on the fact that they are finally here, together. ‘Miss Cackle left for Jersey at dawn, and I have passed the time since then with a stocktake of the laboratory stores.’

‘Ah,’ Pippa says, with a grin, ‘you mean you’re delighted by my early arrival as it gave you a valid excuse to stop performing the most boring task imaginable?’

Hecate arches an eyebrow at her. ‘I could still return to it.’

‘Very well, I shall behave myself,’ Pippa says. Then after a moment: ‘As far as I’m able.’

*

Hecate transfers both of them and Pippa’s belongings to an airy set of guest rooms in the teachers’ wing, a corridor and two doors down from her own, and makes a gesture that is somehow expansive, proud, and awkward all at once. ‘Your accommodations,’ she says, then balls her hands at her sides. ‘Are they acceptable?’

‘They’re just lovely, Hecate, thank you.’ Pippa waves a hand and sends her broom and hat to the wardrobe, her bag to the desk, and her owl to the bed, where she settles sleepily on the end of the bed-frame and fluffs her feathers, preparing to nap. ‘She’s always tired after a long flight,’ Pippa says, watching her with affection.

‘And are you?’ Hecate asks. ‘Would you prefer to rest before I… before…’ she trails off, eyes sliding sideways, and Pippa takes pity on her, shakes her head.

‘I’m very well,’ she says. ‘I find flying invigorating.’

‘Yes, I remember you always did,’ Hecate murmurs, smiling at her with something nearing nostalgia in her eyes. ‘But we aren’t as young as we used to be.’

‘No, we aren’t.’ Pippa grins at her. ‘Thank magic for that.’

‘Very well, then,’ Hecate says, blinking away an expression that falls somewhere between surprised and impressed. ‘Would you care for some tea?’

*

They make their way to Hecate’s study via the scenic route – three corridors and two flights of stairs – so that Pippa can stretch her legs and Hecate can point out features of the school that Pippa hadn’t explored on her last brief visit. Though Hecate has always been a great supporter of magical efficiency, she seems to enjoy their unhurried pace as much as Pippa does, never more than a breath of space between them. Their arms brush now and then when they turn a corner or peer through a doorway, and Pippa revels in the warmth of it, ever-easier; in the fact that Hecate doesn’t pull away.

The study is exactly as Pippa has imagined it, based on the low-lit glimpses she has seen through the mirror: practical but comfortable for long hours of work behind a desk, sparsely decorated but made cosier by the fireplace and the two tall armchairs beside it. There is a steadying warmth about the whole place that breathes Hecate’s name, and Pippa smiles.

‘Something amusing?’ Hecate asks.

Pippa smiles wider. ‘It’s lovely,’ she says. ‘It’s very… you.’

‘Dark and dry?’

‘I was rather thinking… matter-of-fact and dependable.’ It isn’t really what she wants to say, though; it isn’t the word dancing on the tip of her tongue, daring her to be brave, to risk Hecate’s discomfort or scorn for the sake of honesty. ‘Familiar,’ she says.

The risk is rewarded: Hecate is pleased – eyes brightening, lips curving – and tries her best to hide it, but Pippa is watching for the emergence of those once-known signs and spots them before they are swept away. Several moments pass before Pippa grows conscious of the fact that they are gazing at one another, open and warm and full of unspoken words, and when she swallows, self-conscious, her throat is dry. ‘Shall we…’ she begins, but finds she cannot draw her eyes away from the sight of this woman – her oldest friend, once her dearest; the one who hurt her all those years ago in a way she has never forgotten; the one she was always going to forgive, given the chance. 

It is comforting that Hecate – stoic, unflappable Hecate – seems as disconcerted as she is, and something sweet and audaciously hopeful unfurls itself inside Pippa’s chest when colour tinges the wings of those glorious cheekbones. ‘Time for tea,’ Pippa says, and there is a teasing note in her voice she hadn’t intended, but it draws a smile from Hecate as she nods, recovers herself, boils the water with a flick of her hand.

The ritual of tea-drinking returns an element of composure to their interaction, but despite it, and despite the table and teapot and pink iced doughnuts between them – she _remembered_ – Pippa feels Hecate’s presence like the crackle of nearby flames; feels herself leaning into it, heat attracting heat. She feels Hecate’s eyes on her skin, her hands, her lips; sees Hecate struggle against her own instincts as she looks and then looks away, as she fights and then gives in, as she slowly seems to understand that every time she does look, Pippa is right there, looking back.

*

They venture outside in the waning light to wander about the grounds, the summer breeze dancing through the trees and brushing at Pippa’s bare neck. They walk closer, now, than they did before; their arms brush with every step, their fingers with every other. Hecate alternates between comfortable silence and quiet commentary on the castle and gardens, her posture as relaxed as Pippa has ever seen it, the breeze winking colour high into her cheeks. Pippa can’t help glancing across at her as they walk, indulging her senses, committing Hecate’s image to memory. The appreciation – the attraction – is surely broadcasted on her face, but she makes no effort to hide it, and the hint of cautious, bashful pleasure in Hecate’s eyes when they catch Pippa’s own is enough to make her lack of subtlety worthwhile. 

Hecate leads them around the back of the castle and down to an outcropping of rock, large and smooth enough to sit on, high enough to provide an unobstructed view down the mountain and over the forest surrounding them. The sun is behind them, now, but the first orange hints of sunset filter above their heads and catch on the trees. They are quiet for a long while before Hecate says, ‘It isn’t often I’m able to come down here and sit in peace. When the girls are in the castle, things can be…’ she trails off, and Pippa laughs knowingly.

‘Riotous? Chaotic?’ she offers, and Hecate tilts a smile at her. ‘I can imagine.’ She takes a breath, lets it out slowly; savours the cool, clear, pine-scented air. ‘It’s beautiful, Hiccup. Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ Hecate says. ‘I know we first arranged it weeks ago, but I wasn’t… that is, I…’ Irritation creases her eyebrows for a moment and then she sighs. ‘I had feared it might be too much to ask of you. To come here.’

‘To make the effort to visit you when we’ve already lost so much time? I shouldn’t think so.’

Now Hecate turns, fingers twisting together in her lap, and gazes at her. ‘Shouldn’t you? Not after—’ she swallows visibly, her long, delicate throat drawing Pippa’s eye. ‘I treated you dreadfully, and I… I haven’t even explained or, or told you how sorry I am. Please let me do so now.’ Her words are stilted and a little rehearsed, but Pippa knows Hecate, knows how hard it is for her to apologise – how hard it is for her to speak about her emotions at all – and accepts the effort she’s making despite its imperfections. ‘I am truly sorry, Pippa. I hope… I do hope you can forgive me.’

‘I forgive you,’ she says, and knows, though it comes easily, though she has never said it before, that she does. She shuffles closer on the rock and extends a hand, palm up, waits for Hecate to fold her own into it – slowly, hesitantly – and almost sighs with the release of finally touching her when she does. Her fingers are as strong and cool as Pippa remembers, but she feels the quickening flutter of Hecate’s pulse against her own, and the hope that blossoms in response is a near-palpable thing. Cautious, she strokes a gentle hand along Hecate’s wrist, up the ridge of her thumb, smooths her fingers over the peaks and valleys of knuckles. She doesn’t miss Hecate’s sharp hitch of breath – almost a gasp – but one glance at her darkening eyes, one instant of Hecate’s fingers squeezing her own, and she knows it’s welcome. ‘I forgive you,’ she says again, ‘but I must ask… why did you do it? Why did you stop talking to me?’

Their hands are still linked in Hecate’s lap, and now Hecate reaches over and covers them with her other hand, those long, slender fingers engulfing Pippa’s own. Without looking at her, she murmurs, ‘I was afraid.’

‘Of me?’

‘Not… precisely.’ She is quiet for a long moment, visibly struggling. ‘I was afraid of myself,’ she finally says, and looks up, meaning layered bright and clear in her eyes. ‘Around you.’

Pippa allows those words to ring through her mind for a moment, words she has longed to hear, one way or another, for more than thirty years. All this time, she has thought that a sense of vindication would come with hearing Hecate confess to the feelings she has long suspected and even longer returned, but right here, right now, watching the thin pink line of Hecate’s lips pressing down against her admission, watching her fight to contain her guilt and fear, Pippa finds that all she can do is chuckle. ‘Oh, Hiccup,’ she murmurs, affection unhemmed, ‘how silly we’ve both been.’

Hecate’s eyes shoot up at her, still guarded but sparking hope. ‘We?’

Pippa just watches her, smiles at her, trusts that their ability to communicate without words will still hold true even after so long. ‘We,’ she says. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you back then, Hecate Hardbroom, that I might have been entirely smitten with you?’

Hecate stares at her. Pippa smirks. ‘No, I thought not.’

‘You—’ she starts, and then stops. Pippa basks in it. She can count the number of times she’s seen Hecate Hardbroom speechless on one hand. On one _finger_. She turns Hecate’s hand over and traces a feather-light pattern on the inside of her wrist, fingertips skipping, just to watch her try not to squirm.

‘I,’ Pippa says. ‘Granted, I didn’t suspect that you felt the same way until much later.’

‘How,’ Hecate manages, ‘how much later?’

‘Ten years,’ she admits. ‘But by then I had grown too used to hating you. It was… easier, I suppose, than torturing myself with thoughts of what might have been. Or the fear of your rejection should I mention it.’

Hecate shakes her head, disbelief strewn across her face. Slowly, Pippa lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to each of Hecate’s fingers. Hecate seems torn between arousal and the desire to speak and gets caught somewhere in the middle. ‘I didn’t think... I never… Pippa, I—’

‘It’s all right,’ Pippa murmurs. She lowers their hands and shifts closer still, one leg across Hecate’s knees, slides into her personal space. She trusts that her intentions are clear, even to one as unassuming as Hecate. ‘It’s all in the past now.’

‘Is it?’ Hecate asks. Her eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown, and they flick down to Pippa’s lips and back up again.

Pippa thinks about it, then says, ‘No, it isn’t,’ and kisses her. Hecate is frozen for a moment in shock but recovers, loosens, _melts_ , and the feeling of her strong, narrow arms wrapping around Pippa’s back and drawing her closer is almost better than the feeling of Hecate’s lips against hers—

— _almost_ , because Hecate’s lips against hers, Hecate’s tongue soft and tentative and curious, those things are the sound of something clicking into place after years at an angle, the sensation of finding something missing for far too long.

Later, when Pippa is sitting halfway across Hecate’s lap, when her dress is askew and Hecate’s bun is hanging at a forty-five degree angle, when their feet are numb with cold and the sun has all but vanished, Pippa draws back. She is smiling, but Hecate swallows and licks her lips, working up to something. Her hands still on Pippa’s waist and she says, ‘Pippa, I… I want you to know that I don’t expect anything. Of you. I can… we can forget this happened, leave it in the past, if… if it’s what you want.’

Her voice is a rasp that reheats the simmering thrill in Pippa’s blood, but she cannot ignore the seriousness of the words, of Hecate’s expression. She moves the hand that had rested at Hecate’s lips to her shoulder, thumb and finger against her collarbone. ‘Thank you for saying so,’ she says softly, ‘but I don’t want to forget it. In fact, I’d rather like to do it again. Would you… would you rather forget it?’

Hecate slides a hand up her back, scrapes her nails gently back down, and Pippa gasps. ‘No,’ says Hecate firmly. ‘I wouldn’t.’ 

‘Good,’ Pippa says. ‘Good.’ She hadn’t realised she’d been hoping so hard for that answer until she gets it, until her muscles relax and her laughter starts to tingle. ‘Shall we do it again, then?’

Hecate reaches out, traces Pippa’s kiss-swollen lips with a perfectly-manicured finger, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. She says, ‘ _Yes_.’


End file.
